


Publicity Stunt

by kaguya_yoru



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate History, Fanboy Phil Coulson, M/M, One-time use of ethnic slurs, Pheels, Pseudo-Science, Unrequited Love, where the science is made up and the points don't matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:44:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaguya_yoru/pseuds/kaguya_yoru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Did you know that the leader of HYDRA was Dr. Erskine’s first failure with the serum?” Steve asked.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Fury nodded. There had been rumors, but it had never been confirmed until now.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Steve sighed. “I was the second.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Publicity Stunt

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by VolceVoice's [From a Distance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/664996/chapters/1213966), which made me think about how an insensitive Phil Coulson would get together with Steve Rogers.
> 
> In this story, Steve Rogers has an altered backstory that's based on certain events that occurred in _Captain America: The First Avenger_.
> 
> Warnings: Explicit sex; Non-graphic violence; One-time use of ethnic slurs

“What do you mean, Captain America was a _publicity stunt_?”

Phil had received his first Captain America comic book at the age of seven. He'd read it cover to cover every night and had been extra good all week so that his mom would buy the next issue. With every comic book, news article, and memorabilia he’d collected since, he’d compiled each fact gleaned into a detailed character profile. Each piece of his collection was just one step closer to meeting the actual man. Of course he’d never imagined he would; Captain America had been recorded as killed in action since 1943 and there was never any doubt in his mind that the Captain had gone down in a blaze of glory. Phil had spent his entire career in his own little way trying to live up to the legacy that Captain America had left behind.

When he’d gotten the call that Captain America had actually been found, his first thought had been to make sure that he could get his hands on every medical and scientific report S.H.I.E.L.D. generated to add to his collection. When Fury had smugly added “And he’s alive,” Phil had unattractively gurgled into the phone for longer than he would care to admit.

Now here he was, standing not two feet away from _the Captain America_ , who was sheepishly informing them that he was a hoax.

There was a vein bulging alarmingly on Fury’s head. “Explain,” he said.

Captain America - Phil couldn’t quite bring himself to call him Steve - lifted an arm to scratch the back of his neck and Phil’s mouth went a little dry. The bulge of his bicep underneath the frankly too small shirt was impressive.

“Well, sir,” Captain America said. “Dr. Erskine’s formula didn’t quite work as expected.”

Fury lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the before shots, Captain. From what I can see, it looks like it worked just fine.”

Captain America blushed and Phil felt his heart thud in his chest. Most people experienced their first crush as fake weddings when they were in kindergarten or that person they didn’t have the guts to talk to in middle or high school. Phil had spent his adolescence perfecting the exact words he would ever say to Captain America if he could meet him. It was possibly a little less weird now that Captain America was actually alive and not just an amalgamation of information he had gleaned from his collection. Possibly.

“Would you like to take a seat?” Captain America indicated with a sweep of his hand the many empty chairs scattered around the large round conference room table. “It’s kind of a long story and you’ll probably be uncomfortable standing for all of it.”

Phil and Fury had, upon entering the room, unconsciously taken up their standard positions for what they liked to call a polite interrogation. Fury was standing at the head of the table so that he could glare down at the unlucky person who had found themselves in the position of needing to be interrogated. Phil stood behind Fury to his left, so that he could see every twitch of the person’s facial expressions and gestures, while also serving as an extra pair of eyes for Fury’s missing left visual field. Captain America’s request somehow had the instant effect of making the two seasoned spies feel as if they had gotten caught in the act of interrogating a two week old puppy; their movements as they took seats at the large table were a shade more awkward than usual.

“All right, Captain,” Fury said after they had gotten settled in their seats. “Explain how Captain America is somehow a myth when you’re sitting right in front of us.”

Captain America held up a hand. “First of all, please call me Steve. I hate being called Captain when I’m not on camera.”

Phil was very, very sure that Cap-, _Steve_ , had not meant to sound so Hollywood in that moment. Phil purposefully didn't look at Fury to see his expression.

“Second of all,” Steve said. “How much do you know about the serum?”

Fury narrowed his eyes. Steve seemed to realize that Fury was unwilling to start the conversation by revealing information. “It’s just that you said it’s been,” Steve tripped a little over the number, “seventy years and I’m not sure how much of this was recorded in the official archives.”

Fury looked at Phil and inclined his head, giving him the go-ahead.

“Phil Coulson,” Phil introduced himself. “Project Rebirth used a combination of Dr. Erskine’s proprietary formula and an unknown energy source referred only to as ‘Vita-Rays’ to transform Steve Rogers into Captain America. He briefly performed on the USO tour before teaming up with a group of soldiers nicknamed the Howling Commandoes. He had single-handedly rescued them from a HYDRA camp and they went on to destroy many other HYDRA camps and bases during World War II. In 1943, he was recorded as being killed in action when he intentionally crashed a plane into the Arctic to prevent its bombs from destroying New York City.”

It was a rather similar speech to the one he used when he introduced people to his extensive collection.

“Cap,” Fury barked. “How much of that is true?”

“Did you know that the leader of HYDRA was Dr. Erskine’s first failure with the serum?” Steve asked.

Fury nodded. There had been rumors, but it had never been confirmed until now.

Steve sighed. “I was the second.”

Steve laced his fingers together and began. “Dr. Erskine arranged for me to enter the army and then campaigned to have me selected for Project Rebirth. Schmidt, the leader of HYDRA, had injected himself with an unfinished version of the serum. From what Dr. Erskine told me, he thought that Schmidt’s subsequent descent into insanity was a combination of the serum being unready and Schmidt injecting it into his bloodstream. He thought the serum had twisted Schmidt’s brain. With me, he decided to do intramuscular injections instead to minimize the risk of it traveling to my brain. In addition, he thought that he had stabilized the formula.”

Phil hung onto every word. No one knew the exact details of Project Rebirth. Dr. Erskine had reportedly destroyed all of his notes related to it prior to the experiment on Captain America. Howard Stark and Peggy Carter had remained frustratingly tight-lipped about it their entire lives and both had been dead now for several years.

“The serum unfortunately didn’t go anywhere but my muscles.” Steve self-consciously gestured to his well-sculpted physique. “This is pretty much all for show.”

“What about,” Fury flipped through a thick folder labeled ‘Captain America: Classified’, “the reports that within minutes of you receiving the serum, you chased down a HYDRA agent, in your bare feet through the streets of Brooklyn, who had stolen the last vial of the serum? The HYDRA agent reportedly fatally shot Dr. Erskine before fleeing the lab and the vial broke during your subsequent fight.”

“Well, a HYDRA agent did try to steal the last vial and he did kill Dr. Erskine. But Peggy shot the agent before he could flee anywhere and his falling body crushed the last vial.”

Steve smiled a little goofily. “She was a hell of a dame.”

Phil's couldn’t help himself. “But there were eyewitness reports. Interviews. _Pictures_.”

His voice may have gone a shade too high-pitched there at the end. The blush still staining Steve’s cheeks was unfairly adorable; if only Phil couldn’t feel his entire childhood crumbling into pieces with every single word coming out of Steve’s mouth.

“I had a _doppelgänger_. The majority of the eyewitnesses on anything Captain America did were undercover S.S.R. agents. With the initial HYDRA agent story, they did stage it so that there were a few innocent bystanders far enough away to see Earl - that was his name - fighting the fake HYDRA agent, but not close enough to really see his face. Then I posed for the picture that was sent to the papers.”

The blush faded from his cheeks and Steve looked completely dejected. “They tested me for weeks, but it was clear that while I had grown physically stronger, my heart and lungs couldn’t keep up with my new body. They changed the actual date of Project Rebirth to match the new story.”

Fury snapped the folder shut. “What was the point of all this? Why create Captain America in the first place?”

“Did you ever see the Bugs Bunny war bonds cartoon?” Fury and Phil both shook their heads no. “It was a cartoon released right at the start of the war to encourage Americans to buy bonds to support the troops. And it worked; sales increased after they released it.

By the time I came around, bond sales had fallen and American morale had dropped as well. Some men had already given up their lives, women had given up their nylons and gone to work in the factories, and every scrap of tin was being redirected to the war effort. We had just come out of the Depression and it felt like we had gone right back into it. So Senator Brandt created Captain America to cheer the American people, encourage them to support the war effort, and give a familiar face to the troops.”

“The Howling Commandoes?” Phil had to ask.

Steve’s face brightened in a broad smile. “Oh, they were the real heroes! I just happened to be at their camp on the USO tour when Bucky and the others broke out of the HYDRA camp. I was so proud of him.”

His smile dimmed and he looked apologetic. “Senator Brandt thought it would be a great story for the papers when he heard, but the Howling Commandoes weren’t considered suitable enough on their own. A frog, a Jap, and a Negro couldn’t be put on the front page,” Phil internally winced and made a mental note to put Steve in sensitivity training _right away_ , “and Bucky was an unknown American, so they decided to spread the story that Captain America had rescued them from the HYDRA camp. Whenever they went on a mission after that, they inserted Captain America into the story later.

Sometimes, I got to help with the tactical planning. I’ve always had a good eye for maps,” he finished, a little forlorn.

A small silence descended on the room after Steve’s revelations. Phil found himself mentally rewriting every fact about Captain America that he knew before. He wasn’t sure what Fury was thinking, but knew that his plans of including Steve in the Avengers initiative had died a swift death.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Fury and Phil didn’t react, but Steve jumped slightly in his chair as Agent Hill’s voice sounded right behind him, “how did you end up in the ice to begin with? And how did you survive it for seventy years?”

Steve twisted around in his seat to see Hill leaning against the wall as if she had always been there and stared as she pushed off of the wall to have a seat beside Phil. Polite interrogation tactic #3: Agent Maria Hill listened to the entire conversation through the comms and then found a way to slip into the room halfway through without the target noticing; it always unnerved them to realize that an agent could sneak up on them at any moment.

Steve cleared his voice and he was very polite when he answered, “Well, ma’am, the testing did reveal that the serum increased my metabolism and the regeneration rate of the cells in my muscles. I’m no scientist, but I guess I was generating enough body heat to keep my body preserved in the ice.”

“As to how I got in the ice?” Steve looked completely embarrassed. “I was kidnapped actually. The Howling Commandoes had to come rescue me and then I couldn’t just leave without trying to help. I was the only one close enough to sneak onto the New York plane right before it was launched and I managed to take out the pilot with a lucky shot with my shield. Then I had to put the bird in the water to stop it from going to New York.”

“We’re going to have to verify your claims,” Fury said. “It was hard enough trying to swallow that a super-soldier existed in the first place, let alone that he could survive 70 years trapped in the ice. If what you’re saying is true,” Fury shook his head and stood up from the table, “a lot of people have lost their lives trying to replicate what amounts to an urban myth.”

Confusion twisted Steve’s features. Phil tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. “There have been quite a few attempts over the years to replicate the serum to get another super-soldier like Captain America. None of them have ended well.”

Steve looked stricken.

“Hill, with me,” Fury said. “We need to speak with the Council about this and it’s not going to be pretty. Coulson, you’re in charge of debriefing Captain America about the 21st century and testing his capabilities. I want a full report as soon as possible.” He strode out of the conference, Hill at his heels, but paused at the door. “And for God’s sake, put that boy through the motherfucking sensitivity training.”

Phil could see the question on Steve’s face. “There are some things you can’t say in the 21st century.”

Steve quirked an eyebrow. “I’m going to assume that motherfucking isn’t one of them.”

*

This was the most painful thing that Phil had ever experienced. Once, on a mission, he had had bamboo shoots stuck under his fingernails and his tormenter had used a knife to slice paper thin cuts all over his torso. This was worse. So much worse.

Captain America, shirtless and in running shorts, looked like he was at the pinnacle of human perfection. And he was struggling to finish a mile on the treadmill. A 13 minute mile. Phil was pretty sure that he could walk faster than Steve was running.

The counter finally slowly ticked over to the 1 mile marker and the treadmill was stopped. The technicians wore expressions of complete disbelief as they took in Steve’s appearance - who was drenched in sweat and now wheezing at an alarming rate - with the data that was being generated. Even in his winded state, he was careful of the many electrodes that covered his chest, arms, and legs.

A technician hurried over with an inhaler, which Steve took gratefully. Steve had been disappointed to learn that asthma hadn’t been cured and he was still stuck using an inhaler to stop his attacks, but he noted that the new medication had significantly less side effects than his old one. He’d said that had been part of the reason he’d been so sickly growing up.

After his breathing eased out, he gave the inhaler back to the technician with his thanks and turned to Phil. The smile that graced his face startled Phil, who had been prepared to console Steve’s pitiful performance.

“That was great! I’ve never run a whole mile before.”

Phil wasn’t quite sure that Steve had run a mile yet. By the end, it had looked more like he’d been staggering towards his goal. Then the meaning of what Steve said caught up with him. “What do you mean, you’ve never run a mile before?” he asked.

“After the serum, I only got up to a half a mile at best.” Steve paused to drink some water and gained the attention of every person in the room. Phil forced himself to swallow; Steve looked like he had stepped right out of an Abercrombie & Fitch ad.

A female technician with a flirtatious grin handed him a towel and Steve started patting off the sweat from his head and torso, mindful of the electrodes still attached to his skin. Phil had to force himself to pay attention to Steve’s next words. “The army doctors said that I gained strength, but not stamina. Well, besides my own stubbornness anyway.”

Dr. Viktoria Vogel called Phil over. She had been conducting the physical fitness and medical imaging tests on Steve for the past week. “We haven’t been able to find any medical records on Steve Rogers after the serum, but we did manage to dig up a couple of his original assessments by the army pre-serum.”

She consulted her folder. “According to this, pre-serum Steve Rogers had asthma, anemia, diabetes, color-blindness, a heart murmur, scoliosis, possible TB, high blood pressure, and angina. According to the tests we’ve conducted over the last week, Steve no longer has anemia, color-blindness, a heart murmur, scoliosis, high blood pressure, angina, or any evidence of current or latent TB.”

They turned to look at Steve who was frowning slightly. “The color-blindness went away right away actually,” Steve said slowly. “The army doctors thought that might have been due to the Vita-Rays, but they weren’t sure. Everything else I still had though, even after the serum.”

“I have a theory.” Dr. Vogel tapped a slim finger to her lips as she looked at the ceiling. “When Steve was trapped in the ice, he wasn’t eating or drinking anything, so how exactly did he survive for seventy years?”

Phil contemplated that. Steve drifted closer and Phil could smell the sweat drying on his skin. It was very distracting. “What are you thinking?”

Dr. Vogel switched her gaze back to Steve. “If the serum increased the regenerating capability of your muscles, I think your body was using your muscles as fuel. Normal people become cachexic when they’re starving - their body feeds on their muscles and fat in order to stay alive - but when we found you, you looked just as you look right now. Your muscles were able to regenerate fast enough to serve as fuel for you for those 70 years.”

Phil nodded in comprehension. “That could be plausible, but how does that explain the vanishing health problems?”

“Maybe the breakdown of his muscles released the serum into the rest of his tissues over the years. Maybe the serum is still working to change the rest of his body.” Dr. Vogel shrugged her shoulders. “It’s a theory. I’m a medical doctor, not a researcher. You would need to get R&D on it to get the truth.”

“Well, it’s better than any other explanation we have at the moment.” 

Steve was frowning. “What is it, Steve?” Phil asked.

“It’s just that,” Steve blew out a huge breath. “Dr. Erskine thought that Schmidt went insane because the serum affected his brain. If the serum is being released into the rest of my body, what happens when it reaches my brain?”

Phil and Dr. Vogel had no answer for him.

*

Fury finished reading the report. “So you’re telling me that we don’t have a super-soldier yet, but it may be possible for Steve to become a super-soldier in the future?”

Phil nodded. “If Dr. Vogel’s theory is correct, yes. We have the guys in R&D running the numbers on the tissue samples now, but they say it would be more fruitful to monitor Steve’s progress in the upcoming weeks so they can get a better idea of the changes that are happening now that he’s out of the ice.”

There was a gleam in Fury’s eye. “So maybe this whole endeavor wasn’t a waste after all.” He was quiet a moment. “Let’s put him with the new trainees and train him up. We’ve still got his identity under wraps?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Only refer to him as Steve Rogers from now on. No mention of Captain America.”

“Sir,” Phil said. “What about Steve’s idea of the serum eventually affecting his brain like Schmidt?”

“Then we prepare,” Fury said grimly. “I think this calls for Protocol 88, don’t you?”

“Sir?” Phil asked, startled. They hadn’t used that protocol since Agent Barton had brought in the Black Widow. It was incredibly risky and completely unpredictable.

Fury smiled. It was not a nice smile. “How close do you want to get to Captain America, exactly?”

*

“Won’t the new recruits notice I’m not exactly in fighting form?” Steve looked skeptical of Fury’s plan.

Phil smiled at Steve. It was an odd sensation; it wasn’t that he didn’t want to smile at Steve, but he had crafted a certain persona when at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters. It was a bit unsettling to be himself.

“Not all recruits are slated for the field, but we require all agents to go through the basic field training and to get certified in basic weapons training,” he explained. “You may find a number of other recruits who are not exactly in fighting form. You can explain your kind of physique through weight training without cardio and a balanced diet.”

“I guess,” Steve said, still looking dubious. “If I’m not being recruited for the field, why am I here?”

“Strategy and tactics,” Phil replied. “You said that you had a good eye for maps. We employ a number of analysts to gather data and determine the best strategy to tackle each mission.”

“All right,” Steve said. “I want to be of use.”

“Don’t try to make up any stories about your recruitment. There are plenty of agents who don’t discuss how they were recruited, some of them with very good reasons not to.”

“Yes, sir.”

“There is one problem. You haven’t experienced any of the culture for the past seventy years. I’m here to rectify that.” Phil took a deep breath. He was more nervous than he expected. “I’ve been assigned as your unofficial handler; normally, you wouldn’t be assigned one unless you were a full-fledged agent. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together while I catch you up to speed.”

Steve smiled and said, “Thank you, Mr. Coulson.”

Phil cleared his throat. “You can call me Phil, actually. As I said, we’re going to be spending a lot of time together.”

Steve was still smiling as he said, “I look forward to it, Phil.”

*

Phil started off Steve’s education with the aforementioned sensitivity training. S.H.I.E.L.D.’s sensitivity training was legendary: it was 10 hours long and every single agent hated it. But it was effective; amongst the alphabet soup agencies, S.H.I.E.L.D. had the lowest reported hazing incidents. That didn’t mean it didn’t happen; they just generally weren’t reported. And as Fury didn’t care what happened to his agents as long as they were functional and competent, most agents endeavored to only have to attend it once.

When Phil met Steve for dinner in the cafeteria that evening, he expected Steve to be wearing the hunted, glazed look most agents wore when they exited the training. Instead, he was contemplative and silent for the first half of their meal. Finally, he set his fork down with a slight clatter.

“You’re my handler, right? Can I ask you about some things I learned in training today?”

Phil glanced around the busy cafeteria. “Yes, but now is not the best time.”

“Barracks?”

Phil gave a small grin. “We call them quarters now.”

They finished up their dinner and headed to the agents’ quarters. Steve had already been assigned a room on the junior agents’ floor although he hadn’t joined them for training yet. It was a standard size for the junior agents - just large enough to hold a twin bed, small desk and chair, and closet. Phil took a seat at the desk, while Steve sat on the edge of the bed.

Steve stared at his hands for a long time. Phil was just starting to wonder whether he should break the silence when Steve said, “So much has changed.”

“When I was growing up, women had just gotten the vote. I remember when alcohol became legal again. All throughout the training, I just kept thinking that I wish Peggy and the Commandoes were here so I could tell them about everything that’s happened since: the civil rights movement; the repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell; marriage equality.”

Steve looked down at his hands again. “At the end of class, it hit me that they would have already known, because they lived through it. Here I was thinking that I had left them behind, but really they left me behind. I was the one stuck out in the cold.”

Phil was still trying to work out what he was going to say when Steve continued. “Bucky - . Did you know Bucky was my best friend?”

Phil nodded, but Steve wasn’t looking at him. “Bucky liked to take risks. In wartime, when you need every man, people tended to turn a blind eye. I always covered for him, of course. But I thought he was being too risky.”

Steve let out a broken laugh. “Maybe he would have settled down with a nice girl. Or maybe he would have stayed a bachelor. He always looked happy though when he came back from - “ Steve cut himself off.

“I think I’d like to be alone now, Phil.”

Phil made his way to the entrance. “If you ever need to talk about anything, my door’s always open.” Steve was still staring steadily at his hands as Phil closed the door.

*

Phil was busy the next few weeks. There was a mission in Bolivia that needed his attention and a contact in Minsk that he needed to touch base with. He received regular reports about Steve’s physical improvements and progress in basic training and he seemed to be steadily improving in both areas. Phil was confident that the S.H.I.E.L.D. trainers were doing their jobs, just like he needed to do his job.

When he got back from Minsk, Fury called him into his office.

“Coulson, this is not what we discussed.”

“Sir, Kocheyev was being completely unreasonable - “

“I don’t care about that,” Fury interrupted. “It’s Rogers. He’s isolated himself. He shows up for training and medical, but beyond that he spends all his time in his room. _Coulson, this is not what we discussed_.”

“Sir, I - “

“I’m grounding you, effective immediately.” Fury glared at Phil. “As of this moment, your only priority is Protocol 88. You’ll oversee the training of new handlers in the meantime.”

Fury picked up his pen. “I expect to see progress sooner rather than later.”

“Yes, sir.”

*

Phil knocked on Steve’s door. When it opened a moment later, Phil was treated to the sight of Steve in just an undershirt and running shorts.

“Sir? I mean, Phil?”

“I wondered if you would like to see some 21st century New York City.”

Steve grinned. “I would love to. I was starting to get a little cabin fever here. Just let me grab a shower.”

They took a cab to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, where they spent the afternoon wandering through the exhibits. Phil drew on some of his college Art History courses to make Steve laugh with ridiculously high-brow interpretations of some of the paintings. Steve sometimes stunned him with simple yet poignant commentary of the portraits and sculptures. In the early evening, they took a short stroll through Central Park before going to a cozy little cafe on the Upper East Side for dinner.

As they waited for their entrees to arrive, Steve took a sip of water and said, “This is nice. It’s comforting to know that after seventy years, there’s still Central Park. There’s still the Met.”

Phil smiled. “After our conversation a few weeks ago, I thought you would like to know the more things change, the more things stay the same.”

Steve was completely earnest when he replied, “Thank you.”

They fell into a pattern in the upcoming weeks. During the day, Phil babysat the new handlers, gently guiding them towards more optimal plans when needed and counseling them on how to interact with their agents, while Steve went through basic training and checked in with S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical. In the evenings, they picked a new neighborhood to explore. Phil was originally from Boston and hadn’t seen much of New York due to his work with S.H.I.E.L.D. It was exciting seeing New York through Steve’s eyes and watching his face light up when he came across something that had existed during his time.

If his heart skipped a beat when Steve laughed, he made no indication of that fact. If his eyes lingered a little too long on the broadness of Steve’s shoulders, he didn’t make it obvious. If his feelings for Steve deepened with every outing, well, no one but him had to know that. He was Captain America’s - no, Steve’s - friend and that was more than he dared to dream of having before.

Phil was cross-referencing some details in the S.H.I.E.L.D. archives when Agent Mateu dropped down in the seat across from him. She had been one of their greatest field agents when a mistake by an inexperienced agent had cost her her leg. Now she was head of the Strategy and Tactics division of S.H.I.E.L.D.

“Where did you find him?”

Phil turned a page. “Who are you talking about?”

She leveled a flat stare at him. “Who am I talking about? Rogers? The guy who you’re all but attached to the hip to?”

“What about Junior Agent Rogers?” Steve had completed basic weapons training and had had his first day of tactics training that day. He was currently in the gym doing his fitness training.

“He’s a tactical genius! Sharpest mind since Agent Treacy.”

At that, Phil focused all his attention on Agent Mateu. “Go on.”

Agent Mateu settled in her chair. “First of all, he apparently has an eidetic memory. He could memorize a map in less than a minute. Second of all, he laid out a strategy for an upcoming mission in 10 minutes that I think is better than the one my team of analysts spent two weeks devising.”

“I don’t know where you found him,” she said. “But we’re definitely keeping him in S&T. He’s going to be a hell of an agent.”

Agent Mateu left after that, but Phil couldn’t concentrate on his work. He felt this swell of pride filling him up and everything in him wanted to go congratulate Steve on impressing Agent Mateu on his first day. After about an hour of just staring at the page in front of him, Phil gave in and headed down to the gym.

There were only a few junior agents still lingering in the training room when Phil arrived. Steve was in the corner, punching a heavy bag. He was barely wheezing, Phil was pleased to see. Two female junior agents were stretching and chatting in the corner by the mirrors, while the last male junior agent was packing up his gym bag. Phil decided to wait near the entrance until Steve was done.

With a laugh, one of the women pushed the other one to her feet. Her blonde ponytail bounced around her head as she made her way to the corner where Steve was still hitting the heavy bag.

“Hey, Steve.” In the almost empty training room, her voice carried all the way to where Phil was standing.

Steve stopped punching and dragged a forearm across his forehead. “Hi, Michelle,” he said, still panting slightly.

“I was thinking,” she said. “I’m not from around here, so I was wondering if you’d like to show me around the city tonight.”

Steve took a pull from his sports bottle. “I’m sorry. I have plans with Phil tonight.”

She gave him a flirtatious smile. “Ditch him. I’m sure I could make it worth your while.” She arched her back, ostensibly to stretch, but the move served to emphasize her rather ample bosom.

“Agent Rogers,” Phil called, pushing off of the wall and striding towards them. “Could I have a word?”

The grin that Steve graced him with had a tinge of relief, Phil noted. “Sure thing, Phil,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Michelle’s eyes widen as she connected the dots. She spun around and stalked over to her friend, where she muttered angrily under her breath as they packed up their gym bags.

“Agent Mateu commended your performance in tactics training,” Phil said, keeping a watch on the two women. “She thinks you have real potential.”

“Really?” Steve’s entire face transformed with his smile and it looked like a visible weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Phil was going to ask if Steve had been worried when the two women passed by them on their way out of the room and they both overheard Michelle say savagely, “It’s a shame when all the good ones are gay or taken or both.”

Steve’s face fell and he turned away to yank off the tape covering his hands. The bang of the door closing behind the women echoed loudly throughout the gym. The silence that followed was filled with a tension that Phil didn’t know how to interpret.

“Maybe we shouldn’t go out tonight?” Steve asked, not looking at Phil.

“Any particular reason why?”

“I just don’t think I’m up for being around a lot of people tonight.”

Phil was silent a moment. “We could stay in. I could cook us dinner. Would you like that?”

He could see Steve’s hands tighten on his gym bag, but when Steve answered, there was surprise in his voice as he said, “Yes, I would. I would like that.”

*

“I thought you lived in the quarters with the other agents,” Steve said when he arrived at the address Phil had given him.

“Technically, I still do,” Phil said as he ushered Steve into his apartment. “This entire apartment building is owned by S.H.I.E.L.D. and filled with agents. I just wanted a place where I could keep my personal and professional lives a little bit more separate than I could at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.”

The sound and smell of sizzling meat greeted Steve as Phil gestured him into the living room. The kitchen was only separated from the living room by an island countertop, so Steve could see the two pots on the stove from the front entrance. Phil pointed to the comfortable couch that was placed in front of the TV, but Steve decided to sit at the kitchen island instead.

“I don’t cook much,” Phil said, as he bustled around the small kitchen preparing ingredients. “But I do make a mean spaghetti meat sauce.”

Steve smiled and Phil could see the tension leave his shoulders. They sat in comfortable silence while Phil finished cutting up the vegetables and fresh herbs. After he had combined all the ingredients into one of the pots, he handed Steve a glass of red wine and they moved to the couch.

“That needs a good thirty minutes to simmer,” Phil said. “Do you want to watch TV?”

“No.” Steve looked nervous; he was rolling the stem of the wine glass back and forth in his hands. “I - Can we talk?”

Phil set down his glass. “Sure. Was there something in particular you wanted to talk about?”

“Bucky,” Steve said in a low voice.

“Sgt. Bucky Barnes?” Phil asked.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Why don’t you let me decide whether I’m uncomfortable or not?”

Steve was hanging his head so that most of his next statement was said more to his wine glass than to Phil. “Sometimes, Bucky used to go with the fellas the way he was supposed to go with the ladies.”

Phil made a noncommittal noise in response. That had certainly never been documented anywhere.

“Sometimes, I used to get so angry at him!” Steve burst out. “He got to serve his country, while they rejected me five times. He could have any bird he wanted with a crook of his finger. But then he wanted even more than that.”

Steve set down the glass and laced his fingers together. “I covered for him, of course. He was my best friend. But he could have gone to jail. He could have been killed.”

“I used to get jealous. I thought it was because he got away with everything, but thinking back...” Steve took a large swallow of wine. “Maybe it’s because I was too scared to take the risk,” he finished with a rush.

They sat in silence for a moment, before Steve murmured, “So what do I do now?”

“The same thing you’ve always done,” Phil said. “Nothing’s changed except that you now recognize a very important fact about yourself. That’s wonderful, but you’re still Steve. Nothing else has changed.”

Phil cleared his throat. “If the time comes where you find yourself interested in a person, whether they’re male or female, you can make the choice to take a chance. Learn more about them, see if you think they might be interested in you, and ask them out. There are gay clubs you can go to, if that’s the route you want to take.”

On some level, Phil was finding it surreal that he was giving dating advice to Captain America. The man looked like he was a living Greek statue; it didn’t seem like he would need help in that department. But Phil acknowledged that he hadn’t thought of Steve as Captain America in weeks. He was just Steve, who had a boyish grin and a quick wit, who was unfailingly polite to everyone he met, but had no qualms about giving someone a dressing-down if he thought they deserved it. Steve took up more space in his heart than Captain America ever had.

Phil watched a muscle jump in Steve’s jaw. “What if I’ve already found someone?”

Phil’s heart dropped, but he maintained the same tone. “Then get to know more about them, see if - “

“Phil.” Steve set his wine glass on the coffee table and placed his hand on Phil’s knee. He turned to face Phil on the small couch. “What if I’ve already found someone?”

“Steve.” Phil’s voice was serious. “You’re young and I’m the first friend you’ve had since you woke out of the ice. You should make friends with some of the junior agents, go out on the town with them, experience New York City as only a 20-something can.”

Steve’s mouth quirked into a half-grin. “Phil, I’m ninety-five years old. When I’m around the junior agents, I feel like I’m ninety-five. I don’t understand half of what they say and it doesn’t seem like they care about anything real.” His face fell and he started to remove his hand. “But if you’re not interested... “

“No, I - “ The timer in the kitchen went off. Phil busied himself in the next few moments with setting the pasta to boil and checking the seasonings of the sauce. When he finished, Steve was standing at the kitchen island with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“I’ve made you uncomfortable and gone and ruined our evening,” he said. “I can go if you like. We don’t have to talk about this again.”

“You haven’t made me uncomfortable at all.” Phil studied Steve a moment. “I am interested in you. But I don’t want you to think that I’m your only choice just because I’m your only friend. Sometimes the lines of friendship can get blurred.”

“You are?” Steve walked around the kitchen island to where Phil was standing. “I know what I want, Phil.”

Phil cleared his throat and hoped the heat creeping up his neck wasn’t visible. “If that’s the case, why don’t we re-classify this as our first date?”

Steve stuck his hands in the pockets of his khakis and grinned. “I’d really like that.”

*

Phil’s hands hovered briefly over the keyboard before he quickly typed, _Relationship with agent has progressed to one of a romantic nature_.

He hit the ‘Send’ button before he could give in to the impulse to delete or rewrite it.

*

It was two weeks later when Steve blurted out, “I want to kiss you.”

Phil stopped mid-sentence in his denouncement of James Bond’s skills as a spy and blinked. “Okay.”

Steve’s blush lit up the room. “I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to surprise you because I didn’t like it that one time that girl surprise-kissed me and - “

Phil laid a hand on Steve’s arm and his voice trailed off. “Steve,” he said. “Okay.”

Steve’s blush persisted, but he wore a look of determination now. His hand braced against the back of the couch and he leaned in. The first brush of his lips were tentative and his nose bumped against the side of Phil’s. When it became clear to Phil that Steve had very little experience, he laid a hand along Steve’s jaw, angled his head, and took control.

Phil kept the kiss fairly chaste, learning the contours of Steve’s lips and discovering their slightly rough texture from being chewed on. He couldn’t resist sucking lightly on Steve’s bottom lip as he pulled away, which elicited the most delicious choked-off sound.

Steve’s eyes were wide and very, very blue when his eyelashes fluttered open. “Oh,” he breathed.

Phil allowed his fingers trace the angle of Steve’s jaw where it met with his neck, but otherwise strove to remain still.

Steve blinked and licked his lips. “Can we - “

“Yes,” Phil said and surged to meet Steve’s lips again. He forced himself to gentle once his mouth settled over Steve’s, but he was more demanding this time, coaxing Steve to participate and licking at the seam of Steve’s mouth. A small whimper escaped from Steve’s throat when he pulled back this time and Phil had to fight for control as he took in Steve’s now kiss-swollen lips.

Steve leaned back, his hand still gripping the back of the couch. “So that’s what I’ve been missing.”

*

“Coulson, I’ve received your reports.” Fury stared hard at him. “Good work.”

Phil didn’t show the level of distaste he felt at Fury’s words.

“Rogers appears to be socializing with the new recruits more easily now,” he continued. “Agent Mateu informs me that he’s picking up the technology quickly and that she’s impressed with his level of tactical planning. She’s planning on assigning him to some milk runs. Dr. Vogel and R&D have been tracking Rogers’ physical progress and so far, the serum appears to continue to improve his health without any adverse effects.”

The corners of Fury’s mouth lifted slightly. “Considering the current timeline of the Avengers Initiative, we may have ourselves a super-soldier after all. Even better, he will be S.H.I.E.L.D. trained.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m sending you on a mission,” Fury said.

“Sir?” Phil had been quietly going stir-crazy babysitting the handlers. While the idea of a mission stirred his interest, he had grown used to seeing Steve every day. He was oddly reluctant to see that change so early in their new relationship, a feeling he’d never had before in previous relationships.

“Your _relationship_ ,” Fury said the word as if it had personally offended him, “with Rogers has a higher degree of risk than I originally intended or would like. We need to assess the degree of compromise you’ve introduced.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Kocheyev has been making some noise lately. I need you to see what’s going on over there. We can’t afford to lose any of our contacts in Eastern Europe; we’ve been hearing some chatter that something big is going on behind the scenes.”

“Any details?”

“Not yet. So far, we’ve only seen an increase in activity of some of the larger organizations. Usually that only happens when a new player comes on the scene so we’re keeping an eye on it.” Fury paused before adding, “Rogers will be assigned to oversee the strategy for your mission.”

“Sir, Junior Agent Rogers has only been in S&T training for a month. It seems premature - “

Fury overrode his objections. “Agent Mateu assures me that she feels he’s ready to oversee milk runs and this is a milk run. Is there a problem?”

Fury was evaluating him too closely for the question to be as innocent as he’d made it sound. “No, sir,” Phil said after a moment.

“Good. You leave in a week. That should give Rogers enough time to familiarize himself with the situation and devise an appropriate strategy.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fury’s voice stopped him before he opened the door. “I don’t need to remind you that Junior Agents are expected to devise their strategies alone.”

“Sir,” Phil said and exited Fury’s office.

When he reached his office, he sent a single text message. Then he went through the rest of his day as he normally did, mediating a dispute between a handler and an agent and correcting inadequate mission reports. No one noticed anything amiss about his demeanor or actions, but inside Phil was furiously debating what he was going to tell Steve later that evening. Before he left for the day, he quickly refreshed his memory of Kocheyev’s usual haunts and M.O.

When Phil opened the door to his apartment later that night, Steve was grinning from ear to ear.

“I’ve been assigned a mission. Agent Mateu is going to give me the details tomorrow.”

“I know,” Phil said. “You’ve been assigned to my mission.”

Steve sat down on the couch. “Oh. You’re going on a mission.”

Phil sat beside him. “We’re being evaluated.”

“Evaluated?”

“Fury knows we’re dating. There are no regulations against it, but agents need to be evaluated in order to determine whether their personal relationship will interfere with their working relationship.”

“We’ve been nothing but professional at S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“I know,” Phil reassured him. “It’s just a standard precaution.” Phil wanted Steve to be aware they were being watched, but he didn’t want to put him on guard.

“It feels different now that I know you’re the one going on the mission.” Steve looked much less excited now. “How long will you be gone?”

Phil smiled. “That’s for you to tell me. Steve, we can’t discuss the mission outside of S.H.I.E.L.D. You’re being assessed for your tactical skills as well.”

“Right. Of course.”

Phil rubbed the pad of his thumb over the furrow that had appeared in Steve’s brow. “Starting tomorrow, we’re both going to be busy preparing for this mission. We should make the most of tonight.”

Phil guided Steve to lay back on the couch. He placed lingering kisses on Steve’s brow until it smoothed before he captured Steve’s lips with his own. Phil coaxed his lips open so that he could slip his tongue inside, tangling it with Steve’s. The soft sighs and whimpers were music to his ears.

At the thought of not being able to experience this in the near future, a feeling of possessiveness arose in Phil. He skimmed his hands along Steve’s sides, pulling up his shirt as he went along. After one last swipe of his tongue through Steve’s mouth, Phil gently bit down on a now revealed pale nipple. Steve arched his back with a gasp. Phil licked and sucked on first one nipple then the other, while he supported Steve with a hand at the small of his back.

Phil could feel Steve’s hard length against his thigh and he pressed against it with an experimental roll of his hips. Steve’s response was a long, low groan that went straight to Phil’s groin. On the third roll, Steve’s hips came up to meet his and Phil let out his own moan of approval. Phil latched onto the thin skin of Steve’s neck, sucking hard, and Steve’s hips bucked upwards, providing welcome friction against Phil’s aching cock.

“Oh _God_ , Ph- Phil,” Steve gasped. “ _Wait_.”

Phil pulled back immediately, sitting up on the couch, although the sight before him made him want to dive right back in. Steve was breathing hard, a small purplish bruise gracing his neck right above the collarbone and his shirt rucked up to display two small, reddened, pebbled nipples. Steve’s legs were splayed wide open and the large erection tenting his khakis made Phil itch to get his hands or his mouth on it.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Steve said. He was still breathing a little too quickly. “That was just a little intense and,” a blush began to show on his cheeks, “I may be having an asthma attack?”

Phil stared. Steve hadn’t had an asthma attack in weeks. “Oh!” he said, hurrying to grab Steve’s spare inhaler from his desk drawer.

“Maybe we should order in and watch a movie for the rest of the night,” Steve said after he’d inhaled the medicine and his breathing had evened out.

Phil pressed a lingering kiss to Steve’s lips. “Sounds like a plan.”

*

As Phil had predicted, they were both busy for the next week. After having been grounded for months, Phil needed to be recertified in weapons and self-defense. He also need to tie up any loose ends with his work at S.H.I.E.L.D., as it was unknown how long he was going to need to be away. Steve was busy reviewing the data from previous encounters with Kocheyev, as well as evaluating the new data coming in from undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agents stationed in Belarus.

Phil and Steve didn’t see each other at all until the day before Phil was scheduled to leave.

“Something’s definitely up,” Steve said as he opened the final strategy meeting. “Kocheyev is a fairly well-known and established snitch in the community. Everybody knows who he is, he has his preferred haunts, and he mostly deals with low-level thugs.”

“The data coming in shows a pattern of increasingly erratic behavior from Kocheyev the past couple of months. He keeps changing where he hangs out, sometimes disappearing completely for days, and there have been reports that he’s tried to approach some of the higher-ups directly with information. It looks like he’s running scared from someone big and it’s making the higher-ups in the area nervous.”

Phil frowned. Kocheyev hadn’t displayed any of that kind of behavior the last time he talked to him. “Where does he hang out now?”

“Because he’s become so erratic, I’ve assigned one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents to tail him. Once he knows for certain, he’ll let you know via the comms where Kocheyev is headed for the night.”

“Understood.”

“Considering his recent behavior, I thought it best if you conduct the real meeting at a neutral third location.”

Phil shook his head. “I normally conduct the meeting wherever we are. It makes it more difficult for him to rabbit.”

“Normally, I would agree with that,” Steve said. “But this isn’t a normal situation. Kocheyev is running scared from someone or something. When you initially meet up with him, if you make it known that you’re aware that he’s running and can provide him with powerful security - “

“ - then he’ll be more willing to talk,” Phil finished. He considered Steve. “It’s risky.”

“I know. You’ll have to reveal exactly how much you know and in the past, you’ve played ignorant.” Steve smoothed out the blueprint in front of him, the gesture belying the confident tone in his voice. “I think whatever’s happening is too big to leave Kocheyev flying in the wind anymore.”

Phil thought for a moment. “I agree. He has valuable contacts in Belarus and if the higher-ups are getting nervous about him, it would be worth to pull him out for a cool-off period. He can re-establish himself once whatever this is has settled down; we’ve seen him do it once before.”

He turned to the senior agent in the room. “Agent Mateu, any reservations with this plan?”

Agent Mateu shook her head. “Junior Agent Rogers’s analysis is sound. There’s enough wiggle-room for you to reassess as needed once you’re in the area. All in all, I think it’s the best way to proceed.”

“Agreed.” Phil turned back to Steve. “Where am I meeting him?”

They hashed out the details of the rest of the plan. Steve provided him with the contact details and cover stories of the undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agents in the area in case he needed back-up. By the time they finished it was approaching midnight and Phil still needed to pack for his 4 am flight. He and Steve made do with a hurried kiss inside of Steve’s quarters before Phil headed home to grab a couple of hours of sleep.

*

Kocheyev had pulled another one of his disappearing acts by the time Phil arrived in Belarus. Since his cover as Karl Peterson meant that he was a small arms dealer, Phil spent a few days insinuating himself with the local weapons merchants, taking note of which brands and models had made it to the country since the last time he was there.

Phil received the call from the undercover S.H.I.E.L.D. agent five days after he arrived. He headed down to the address he was given immediately.

Upon entering the bar, Phil saw that the men inside were rougher than the kind of clientele Kocheyev usually associated with. Their eyes were hardened, their muscles more sinewy, and there was a general air of malice surrounding them. Phil spotted Kocheyev sitting hunched in the corner, his fingers holding a pint so tightly that they had blanched white.

Phil slipped into the seat opposite him. “Isn’t vodka more your style?”

“Fuck, Peterson,” Kocheyev hissed. “What the hell are you doing here?” Up close, Kocheyev looked awful. It looked as if the color had been leached out of his face. There were bags under his eyes, which were darting wildly around the room. Phil could see that the hand not holding the pint was trembling slightly.

Phil spoke quickly. “I’m not just a small arms dealer. Whatever’s going down here, my employers would like to protect you.”

Kocheyev snorted into his pint. “Right, so I’m supposed to believe that you suddenly know the big boys and give up all my secrets in exchange for your protection. You’re small time, Peterson. You don’t have the slightest idea what’s going on here.”

Phil thought of what he could say that would make the conversation move faster. He was aware that a few of the patrons were starting to pay a little too much attention to their corner; he hadn’t ordered any alcohol in the interest of time and he was starting to stand out. “Svetlov’s daughter is named Nina.”

Kocheyev’s pint hit the table with a dull thud. “Shit, are you trying to get me killed?”

Svetlov was one of the biggest names in Belarus. He doted on his only daughter and her identity was a closely guarded secret; Svetlov killed anyone who knew her name or appearance who wasn’t part of her private guard. Technically, Kocheyev was too small time to know anything about her, but he’d happened to overhear one of her guards complaining about the temper tantrums of the _malen’kaya printsessa_. That guard had been found in the river the next morning. Kocheyev had been smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

Phil slid a piece of paper across the table. “Meet me at this address in two hours. We’ll talk more then. Remember, we can protect you.”

Kocheyev didn’t say anything, but he quickly snatched up the paper. Phil headed out of the bar. He had to trust that Kocheyev would find his way to the address without attracting attention.

After taking a circuitous route through the city, Phil thumbed on his communicator. “Sit rep,” he said quietly.

“All clear,” came Steve’s voice through the comm device. Phil was too senior to need a handler, so he got his information directly from the analyst in charge of the mission. In this case, that analyst was Steve. “The other men in the bar lost interest in you as soon as you left and Kocheyev slipped out about a half hour later. Kocheyev’s tail had to return to his own mission so we don’t have eyes on him at the moment.”

Phil acknowledged the information with an absent-minded sounding hum. He hated the uncertainty of not knowing whether Kocheyev would show, but they couldn’t afford to pull undercover agents from their own missions for too long. He masked his next response by pulling his scarf up higher against the cold. “Keeping comms on for the rest of the mission.”

“Understood.” Steve’s voice was completely professional. Phil felt a warm glow of pride that so far Steve’s plan was going off without a hitch.

Phil cut through a few more side streets before heading to the address he’d given Kocheyev. It belonged to an old warehouse that had been abandoned last year. Empty storage crates still littered the inside but there were clear sightlines to all of the windows and doors. Phil slipped through one of the entrances and headed to the spot he picked out earlier to wait. It gave him an unobstructed view so no matter which way Kocheyev chose to enter, he would be able to see right away.

Exactly two hours after Phil had handed over the address, Kocheyev entered the warehouse. Phil resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow; Kocheyev was notoriously late to everything.

“You can get me out of here, _da_?” Kocheyev asked after he’d hurried over to where Phil was standing.

“Yes,” Phil said. “My employers - “ The widening of Kocheyev’s eyes and the slight shift of air behind him were all the warnings Phil had before he threw himself to one side, pulling his gun out as he did so. A buzzing sound filled the air as he hid himself in the shadows surrounding the empty crates and the thud of a falling body soon followed.

Phil said under his breath, “Unknown hostile. Kocheyev down.”

“Acknowleged,” Steve said. “Agents have been notified.” He was quiet a moment. “Nearest agent is ten minutes away. Can you hold?”

“I can try,” Phil said.

“Do you have a visual?”

“Negative.” Phil listened hard, but there were no other sounds in the warehouse, not even footsteps. After a few minutes, Phil shifted position so that he could peer around the crate. Kocheyev was lying in a heap on the floor. No one else was in sight.

“No sign of hostile.” Phil remained on guard. He crept deeper into the shadows.

“ETA four minutes,” Steve said. “Hold your position.”

There was a stirring in the air and then a broad-shouldered man appeared not twenty feet from Phil. A cape overlay the metallic armor that covered his entire body, but Phil did not hesitate before emptying a clip at him, backing up as he did so. The bullets pinged harmlessly off the armor as the man glided towards him, his feet not touching the ground and a strange energy crackling around his hands.

“Mr. Coulson,” the man said once Phil had emptied his clip. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Can’t say the same,” Phil said.

“ETA two minutes. Hold!”

The man’s armor-clad hand shot out and gripped Phil by his neck. Phil had just enough time to draw breath before the strange energy filled his body with the worst pain he had ever experienced.

Before he blacked out, the last thing he heard over the sounds of his own screams was Steve’s anguished “ _Phil!_ ”

*

Phil’s return to consciousness was greeted by a “Mr. Coulson, so nice of you to join us.”

Phil peeled his eyes open. At first he thought he was seeing double, but on closer inspection, he saw that there were three exact replicas of the man who had taken him down in the warehouse.

The one in the middle addressed him. “This will not be an extended visit, but do give your employers my regards.”

Phil was unable to respond when the man on the right drove his metal-clad fist into his abdomen. While the man in the middle glided away, the two replicas began pummeling his body with their fists. As Phil slid back into unconsciousness once more, he was grateful that his communicator had been removed so that Steve didn’t have to listen to his painful cries.

*

When next he woke, it was to the all too familiar ceiling of S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical. Phil took a moment to indulge in feeling grateful.

The shadows ran deep in the corners of the room, indicating that it was the middle of the night. Visiting hours would have long been over for the day and the chair beside his hospital bed was correspondingly empty.

Phil spoke and his voice was low and hoarse in the dark room. “When did you get back?”

Natasha Romanoff stepped out from the shadows and gracefully lowered herself into the chair. “I was the one who brought you in,” she said. “You were left as a gift for me outside of my hotel room.”

Phil frowned. He was about to respond when a dry cough racked his frame. Natasha held a cup of water up to his lips so that he could sip the tepid water. When the need to cough had subsided, he said, “I thought you were in Serbia.”

“I was.”

Natasha sipped a little of the water herself. “Someone’s playing with us. Your injuries are relatively minor: only a couple of cracked ribs and primarily heavy bruising. You’ll be healed within a couple of months.”

“He certainly had the capability to do much worse damage,” Phil mused. “There was absolutely no reason for you to be involved; our missions were completely unrelated and in different countries.”

“Unless he knows we’re connected.” Despite having known him for six years, Natasha never referred to what they had as a friendship or any other kind of relationship.

“He asked me to give his regards to my employer.”

“You were a message.” Natasha’s tone was flat.

A silence fell after that and Phil felt his eyelids drooping shut as the combination of his injuries and the painkillers started to take their toll. He assumed Natasha had learned all that she wanted to know. He was therefore taken by surprise when Natasha asked, “Who’s Steve Rogers?”

“He’s a new junior agent recruited several months ago,” he said. “Why do you ask?”

Natasha stood so that she could look Phil directly in the face. “He was here when I brought you in. He was rather distraught.”

“We’ve grown close.”

“Does Clint know?” Her body held the kind of stillness Phil usually only saw right before she opened someone’s throat with a knife.

“As far as I know, Agent Barton is still undercover in Bolivia,” Phil said carefully.

Natasha said nothing more and left the room. Phil allowed the drugs to lull him back to sleep.

*

“I really have had cracked ribs before,” Phil said. “I know how to take care of myself.”

Steve fluffed another pillow and placed it behind Phil’s back.

“I thought you had become friends with Agents Caron and Burrell. Why don’t you go see a baseball game with them this weekend?”

It had been a week since he’d gotten injured and in that time, Phil had resumed training the new handlers while he healed. Steve had been placed in charge of the team of analysts who were trying to ferret out information on Phil’s assailant. Agent Mateu had reported that Steve was completely driven and focused on the task.

Phil had been experiencing that focus first-hand; ever since he’d been released from S.H.I.E.L.D. Medical, Steve had spent every spare moment he had at Phil’s side. It wasn’t that Phil didn’t appreciate having dinner cooked for him every night, but it was starting to feel a little claustrophobic.

“Or - “

“Phil, just,” Steve said. “Stop.” He was gripping a dish towel very tightly.

“Steve, what’s going on?”

Steve checked the casserole bubbling away in the oven before sitting down on the edge of an armchair. The dish towel was twisted between his hands.

“I planned the mission.”

“Agent Mateu confirmed that you did everything you could. She said that she wouldn’t have done anything different.”

“No, not this one. Bucky’s mission.”

Phil sat back in his nest of pillows and waited.

“It was dangerous, but it was the only way we could get Zola before he reached another HYDRA camp. Bucky and the Commandoes used zip lines to get to the train Zola was riding.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. He looked tired and suddenly much older than 25. “I was part of a secondary team to blow the tracks if necessary. We wanted Zola alive if possible, but we didn’t want him to fall back in HYDRA’s hands under any circumstances.

When the train rounded the corner, we could see there was a hole blown into the side of it. Bucky was hanging on to a support beam. Dum Dum tried to get to him, but he fell before he was able to. He and Gabe went on to finish the mission.

There wasn’t even a body to mourn.”

Phil’s voice was as gentle as he could make it. “Steve, I’m right here.”

“Every night, I dream that it’s you falling instead of Bucky. You scream - “ Steve cut himself off. “I know I’ve been a bit overbearing this past week, but when we’re at S.H.I.E.L.D., I don’t see you all day. I’m just trying to remind myself you’re actually here.”

A knock sounded on the door before Phil could say anything. Steve’s face hardened.

“Are you expecting anyone?” he asked, while he grabbed his weapon from the coffee table.

“No,” Phil said, curling his hand around the cool handle of his gun hidden in the couch cushions. Bullets hadn’t worked against the metal-armored man, but it made him feel better to have a weapon in hand. He twisted his body so that he could have a better view of the front door, ignoring the pain the motion elicited.

Steve peered through the peephole. “Red-headed woman. Early 30s,” he whispered to Phil.

“That’s Natasha. She’s a friend.” Steve visibly relaxed and tucked his gun into the back of his jeans. Phil didn’t let go of his own gun.

Steve pulled open the door and said, “Good evening.”

Natasha walked past him into the apartment. Phil could see her taking in every detail of the scene before her. The savory aroma of the casserole in the oven permeated every corner of the apartment. Phil was nestled in pillows on the couch, his laptop and favorite book within easy reach. The door to the study that also held his Captain America collection was firmly closed, as was his bedroom door.

Natasha stopped on the other side of the coffee table. “I’m going to Bolivia to help clean up.”

“I see,” Phil said.

“We should be back within two weeks.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

Finally, Natasha acknowledged Steve’s presence with a “Steve Rogers” as she passed him on her way out the door.

“Have we met?” Steve asked, his face twisted in confusion.

“No,” Natasha said and left.

*

“You look like hell.”

Phil mentally braced himself before looking up. Clint Barton stood in his doorway. A tan darkened his features and his blond hair was sun-kissed. His arms were crossed and he leaned against the doorframe by his shoulder. As Phil watched, Clint pushed off from the frame and closed the door behind him.

Clint dropped into the chair in front of Phil’s desk.

“I heard about the mission in Bolivia,” Phil said. “Good work.”

Clint stretched his arms above his head. “I made some really solid shots there,” he said, the closest he ever got to acknowledging praise. He dropped his arms into his lap. “I talked to Natasha.”

Phil said nothing.

“Steve Rogers?” Clint raised his eyebrows. “I only know of one Steve Rogers.”

Phil leaned back in his office chair and turned away from his computer to face Clint fully.

“She says that the two of you were close. I thought you didn’t date agents.”

Phil made his voice as mild as possible. “Normally, I don’t.”

A muscle ticked in Clint’s jaw and his hand briefly tightened into a fist. Then his shoulders slumped and he rose from the chair. “I should have known that you only had eyes for Captain America,” he said before leaving.

*

Steve was too quiet during dinner at _A Voce_. Phil swallowed a sip of Merlot before asking, “Is something wrong?”

It had been a month since the attack and Phil was expected to be fully healed within the next couple of weeks. Steve had stopped his hovering after the first week, but Phil made certain they had dinner together at least a couple of times a week. Phil was surprised by how much he had grown to like the routine; normally, he started to get restless once he reached this stage of a relationship.

Steve blew out a breath. “I’m not sure. I’ve been assigned as part of a team to oversee a mission for Strike Team Delta today. There was a tension in the air when I was given the assignment though. I think there are concerns about my ability to remain professional when it comes to you.”

Phil had grown very still. He and Fury had been friends for a very long time and they had gone through hell together several times and come out the other side. Phil counted Fury as his best friend and would trust him to have his back in any situation. But there were times like this when he wanted to punch Fury right in his eyepatch.

“It’s a test.”

“That’s what I feared.” Steve’s shoulders slumped.

“Not for you. For me.”

*

The mission was slated to begin in three weeks, giving Phil enough time to fully heal and the analysts enough time to plan. Steve spent the first week gathering and analyzing the data and then the next week was spent in mission planning. There were daily meetings attended by Agent Mateu, Steve, and the members of Strike Team Delta: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanoff, and Phil Coulson. The meetings ran fairly smoothly; parameters were identified, details were hashed out, and a plan slowly started to take place.

And Clint Barton spent each meeting gazing at both Steve and Phil as if they were under a microscopic lens.

Phil had been trained to withstand torture; yet, by the end of the week, it was starting to get to him. He didn’t understand how Steve was coping.

“Jeez!” Steve almost slammed the door behind them. “What is with that guy?”

Phil yanked off his tie with a little more force than usual. Their meeting had run almost 6 hours that day and Clint had spent the entire time staring down Steve and Phil. Clint’s questions and responses throughout the day had been perfectly civil, but it was wearying to be under such close scrutiny.

“He’s called Hawkeye for a reason,” Phil said tiredly. He sank down onto his couch and leaned his head back against the cushions, closing his eyes.

“I’m getting the sense something else is going on.” Phil felt the couch cushions dip as Steve sat next to him.

Phil took a deep breath. This wasn’t fair to Steve. The situation really had nothing to do with him, but he deserved to know why he was being filleted by Barton’s gaze every day.

“I recruited Barton fifteen years ago,” he said, keeping his eyes closed. “He’s an incredible marksman, but he had a rough childhood. I don’t think he had a lot of people show him kindness.

We worked well together and our successful missions were helping me rise through the ranks. I encouraged him to learn new skills, like flying the Quinjets, and praised him whenever we completed a successful mission.

One mission about five years ago, he was captured by enemy forces. I immediately put together a team and infiltrated the facility where he was being held to get him back. When we got back to headquarters, he kissed me.”

Phil didn’t include the heartfelt confession that accompanied the kiss. Clint deserved to have that remain between them.

“You didn’t kiss him back?”

“I told him I was flattered, but that I don’t date agents.”

“And now you’re dating me.”

“Now I’m dating you,” Phil agreed.

“Phil.” There was an odd note to Steve’s voice that made Phil open his eyes. “I know you’re tired, but I really need to kiss you.”

Phil smiled. “Of course.”

Steve leaned forward and pressed his lips to Phil’s. He licked his way into his mouth and stroked his tongue along Phil’s. Phil stifled a groan.

After a moment, Steve broke the kiss but leaned his forehead against Phil’s. “This mission you’re going on,” he said. “It’s dangerous.”

“I know,” Phil said and stroked one hand along Steve’s arm. “But we’re an experienced team.”

“It’s just,” Steve pressed another quick kiss to Phil’s lips, “I don’t want you to go without knowing.”

“Knowing what?”

“Knowing what it’s like to feel you.”

Phil’s hand stilled on Steve’s arm and he pulled back so that he could see Steve’s entire face. “Are you sure?”

Steve bit his lip. “I’ve been waiting for the right partner. I think you’re it.”

Phil felt like he could actually hear his heartbeat, it was pounding so loud. “All right.”

They moved into the bedroom and Steve went to take off his shirt. Phil stopped him. “Let’s take this slow.”

He guided Steve to lay down on the cool blue sheets and resumed kissing him, one leg slung over Steve’s thigh. He licked, sucked, and bit every single one of Steve’s sensitive spots he knew until Steve was gasping, his muscles strung tight with tension.

“How’s your breathing?” Phil murmured, his hand drawing a path down Steve’s side.

“It’s fine,” Steve gasped. “Phil, _please_.”

Phil drew off Steve’s shirt and spent some time getting acquainted with Steve’s nipples. Steve’s hips were bucking wildly searching for friction and he was responding to every slight brush of Phil’s hand with a thick moan by the time Phil finished.

Phil pulled back and surveyed his handiwork. Steve had his eyes closed and was panting every breath. A flush suffused his cheeks, neck, and collarbone. His khakis were tented and a wet spot was spreading across the front. Phil sized him up and determined that he wasn’t go to last long.

With quick, economical movements, Phil unbuttoned and unzipped the khakis, pulled down Steve’s boxers and slid Steve’s cock into his mouth. Phil’s hands held down Steve’s hips when they instinctively tried to thrust upwards. Steve hitched in two breaths and then he was coming down Phil’s throat with a groan so loud it was almost a shout.

Phil swallowed and let Steve’s softening cock slip from his mouth. He’d intended on winding up Steve again but he hadn’t expected how much of an effect Steve’s reactions would have on him. Even the soft cotton of his boxer briefs against the head of his cock was making him grit his teeth. Not wanting to come in his pants like a teenager, Phil started unbuttoning his dress shirt and got off the bed.

“Wait,” Steve said faintly, his eyes briefly opening and then closing again. One hand fluttered aimlessly in Phil’s direction.

“Steve, I’m close,” Phil said, toeing off his shoes.

“Okay, okay,” Steve said. Phil could see Steve marshalling his strength to sit up as he yanked open his belt and pulled it through the loops. “Just let me...”

Phil had stripped down to his boxer briefs when he rejoined Steve on the bed. He threaded his fingers through the fine hair at the back of Steve’s neck and plundered Steve’s mouth with his own. Steve was completely pliable under his ministrations, letting Phil take what he wanted. When Phil felt a hand slide down his chest, he had to pull away to let out a groan.

Steve guided Phil to lie back, still kissing him with lazy movements. One hand encircled Phil’s leaking cock creating the perfect amount of heat and friction for Phil to thrust into. Steve began to jerk him off, his hand catching slightly on the waistband of Phil’s underwear every so often. In a shorter time than Phil would have preferred, he was panting his release, his hands gripping Steve’s biceps.

Steve kept stroking him through his orgasm and then let go once Phil made a protesting noise when the skin became too sensitive. He pressed one last kiss against Phil’s lips and then collapsed next to him.

“Incredible,” he mumbled into Phil’s shoulder.

Phil let Steve lay there while he caught his breath, but eventually he had to gently push him off before his arm went numb under Steve’s weight. He cleaned himself off in the adjoining bathroom and pulled his boxer briefs back up. When he came back into the bedroom, it was to see that Steve had sprawled over one half of the bed, but hadn’t made any move to fix his clothes.

“I can go,” Steve said, his eyes still closed and his voice slow and heavy.

“You can stay,” Phil said, resting a hand briefly on Steve’s shoulder.

After Steve had rearranged himself so that his pants were resting on the floor and he was underneath the bed covers in just his boxers, he made a questioning noise when Phil moved towards the door instead of the bed.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ll be right back,” Phil said, shrugging into the robe that had been hanging on the back of the door. “Go to sleep.”

Phil shut the bedroom door behind him to block out the light spilling in from the living room. He doused all the lights and then moved towards a door that had remained locked for the past four months. Phil surveyed the room once he flicked on the light.

The room was originally slated to be a study, but it had long been converted into a storage room for his Captain America collection. Boxes lined one wall, each one meticulously labeled with the years and issue numbers of the comics contained therein. There were two replicas of Captain America’s shields, one from the USO tour and one from when he was with the Howling Commandoes displayed on either side of the entrance. A bookcase held video cassettes and DVDs of the Captain America commercials and films, along with a number of books analyzing Captain America’s actions during the war, speculating why he went on the USO tour rather than fight with the troops, and tell-all books done with some of the former back-up dancers from the USO tour.

Framed in its place of honor above his desk was the first Captain America comic he’d ever read. Stacked neatly on top of the desk were the first medical and progress reports generated by S.H.I.E.L.D. about Steve Rogers. 

Through his years with the Rangers and his first years at S.H.I.E.L.D., he’d used the collection to buoy his spirits and to remind himself why he was fighting. With every completed mission, he’d allowed himself to buy one new item to add, no matter how much it cost. Now having met the actual man, the whole collection seemed silly and childish, a foolish way for him to hold onto the idea that the good guys always win and save the day.

Phil gazed at the framed comic a little while longer before he turned off the light and closed the door.

*

Phil slammed his hand down on the blaring alarm. He checked the time. 6:00 a.m.

“Ugh,” Steve groaned.

“We need to get up.”

“Do we have to?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We have an 8 a.m. meeting and you still need to get back to headquarters.”

Steve peeled his eyes open. “The way I feel, I may gut Barton if he looks at me funny today.”

Phil shoved at Steve’s shoulder. “Come on, get dressed.”

Steve rolled out of bed. He pulled on his khakis, but didn’t do them up before shuffling out of the room, yawning, ostensibly heading towards the hall bathroom.

Phil was staring in the mirror in his own bathroom, trying to summon up the energy to turn on the shower, when he heard Steve ask, “Phil, could you come here?”

He headed towards the kitchen, idly thinking that Steve needed help using the coffee maker - it was an advanced model that even Phil had trouble with early in the morning - when he noticed that there was no one in the living room or kitchen. Phil backtracked to the hallway and saw that the room to his study was open.

Phil was instantly awake. He stopped in the doorway to see Steve standing in the middle of room, eyes wide as he took in every detail.

“Phil, what is this?” Steve asked.

Phil didn’t have an answer for him. He didn’t think saying the obvious - _a Captain America collection_ \- would go over well.

“Before the serum, nobody took a second glance at me. Afterwards, I had girls throwing themselves at me,” Steve said. “There’s a difference between Steve Rogers and Captain America.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Steve glanced around. “Or am I just part of your collection? What about the S.H.I.E.L.D. medical reports sitting on the desk?”

“It’s not like that.”

Steve looked around once more and then brushed past Phil into the hallway. “We have a meeting soon. We can talk about this later.”

Phil didn’t stop him from leaving the apartment.

*

“Barton, with me,” Phil said when he arrived ten minutes before the scheduled meeting. Natasha narrowed her eyes. Steve didn’t look at him at all as he left the room with Clint in tow.

Phil led Clint to his office and shut the door behind them.

“Knock it off,” he said.

“Sir?”

“The laser pointer stare you have for me and Steve,” Phil said. “Knock it off!”

In the fifteen years he’d been working with Clint, he’d never raised his voice to him. He’d reprimanded him plenty of times, but it had always been conducted in a conversational tone. Phil knew it was a mistake as soon as he did it.

Barton’s gaze shuttered. “Won’t happen again, _sir_.”

He reached for the doorknob, but Phil stopped him. “Why?”

If there was one constant in their relationship, it’s that Phil never rebuked Clint without asking for an explanation. He didn’t know if he would get one now, but after a long pause, Clint spoke.

“I was trying to see why him and not me.” He pulled open the door and Phil let him.

*

The mission was a complete success. Even after months apart, Strike Team Delta still worked together flawlessly and the intel Steve had gathered proved completely accurate.

Phil was placed back on active field duty permanently and was sent out on a number of missions in the ensuing months. He soaked in the excitement of being in the field and the thrill of taking down his targets. And he was perfectly, quietly miserable.

He’d had one conversation with Steve outside of strategy meetings.

“I understand that you were assigned to bring me up to speed. But I need to know why we became friends; was it because you liked Steve Rogers or because you liked Captain America?”

Phil couldn’t tell him it was because of Protocol 88, so he’d said nothing at all.

*

“I haven’t received a report from you in months,” Fury said. “What’s going on?”

“Sir, it appears that Protocol 88 was an inappropriate way to secure Steve Rogers’s loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D. At this rate, we may have jeopardized his inclusion into the Avengers Initiative.”

Fury pinched the bridge of his nose. “Coulson, sit down.”

He waited until Phil was seated. “There are unconfirmed reports that a new country has been established in Eastern Europe called Latveria. The nutjob who supposedly rules this country has been described as wearing metallic armor and a cape. Sound familiar?”

Phil felt a phantom twinge of pain from his ribs. “Sir.”

“I need to get my house in order,” Fury said. “Whatever’s about to go down is going to be big. And I’m going to need my best agents.”

He consulted a folder. “Medical reports that Steve Rogers no longer has asthma or any other health conditions. Furthermore, the serum doesn’t appear to be having any adverse effects on his cognitive faculties. If he’s amenable, we can start him in advanced field training in preparation for the Avengers Initiative.”

“Congratulations, sir.”

Fury laced his fingers together and gazed at Phil. “We’ve been friends for a long time. I’m not very good at relationships, but even I could see that you were actively avoiding Rogers even after I placed you in charge of his education. I know it was a blow to learn that your childhood hero was not who you expected.”

“Yes,” Phil admitted. “It was.”

“Coulson, there is no Protocol 88.”

“Sir?”

“There is no Protocol 88,” Fury repeated. “It doesn’t exist. Protocol 88 is what I use in order to meddle in your life.”

Phil had never heard another agent talk about Protocol 88. The only other time Fury had mentioned it was when he’d told Phil to encourage the friendship between Clint and Natasha after Clint’s confession. At the time, Fury had told him that Protocol 88 was top secret and only known to a few of the higher level senior agents; the goal was to establish an emotional connection in order to secure an agent’s loyalty to S.H.I.E.L.D.

“You fucker.”

“Yes.”

“You motherfucking fucker.”

“Yes.”

“I want to punch you right now.”

“I know.”

“Right in the eyepatch.”

“Don’t push it.”

Phil slumped back in his chair.

“Look,” Fury said. “Protocol 88 only states that the target needs to feel good about working at S.H.I.E.L.D. It says nothing about friendship or a relationship. Steve Rogers was good for you. You were too much about the job and he breathed some life into you. And you were able to keep your personal relationship separate from your work relationship. Whatever happened between you, you should fix it.”

“I don’t know how.”

“Well, maybe you should get out of my office and go figure that out.”

*

Natasha found him in a local bar not too far from his apartment.

“Natasha, there is no Protocol 88.”

“I know,” she said, ordering three fingers of vodka. “Isn’t that a good thing?”

He wasn’t surprised that she had discovered the apparently non-existent Protocol 88. “When?” he asked, trusting that she would know what he was asking.

“You kept encouraging me to spend time with Clint. I wanted to know why.”

Phil stared at his glass of whiskey. “Steve wants to know why I decided to become friends with him.”

“Mm-hmm,” Natasha murmured as she took a sip.

“I’m not sure why.”

Natasha downed half her glass. “Well, whatever the reason, tell him the truth.”

There was a hard note to her voice. Phil looked over at her. “Natasha?”

“You told Clint that you don’t date agents.”

“I didn’t!”

“Why didn’t you tell him that you weren’t interested?”

That brought Phil up short.

“He’s carried a torch for you for the past five years, all because you didn’t tell him that you weren’t interested,” Natasha snarled. “Then he had to come back from a mission to find you dating Captain fucking America.”

She downed the rest of her glass and slammed it down on the bar. “He deserves the truth, Phil. Both of them do.”

*

Phil let himself in the range. It was 2 o’clock in the morning, but he knew Clint would be in there. He practiced in the deserted range to help him fall asleep at night.

Sure enough, the twang of a bowstring reached his ears and he followed the sound until it revealed Clint at the far end. He took a moment to admire the hard muscles of Clint’s thighs and the shifting of Clint’s arm and back muscles as he repeatedly drew back the string. He’d always thought that Clint was a beautiful man and his skill with a bow was exquisite.

Clint hit the button that recalled the target and Phil could see that Clint had formed a simple X with the arrows, each one spaced exactly equidistant from its neighbors. Phil was glad. Clint only did the very difficult shots when he was upset about something.

“What do you want, sir?”

Phil moved so that he was in the next lane over from Clint. “I wanted to say I’m sorry,” he said. “I was insensitive. I should have told you the truth.”

“Which is?” Clint didn’t turn to face him.

“I just don’t feel that way about you. I respect and admire you, but nothing more. I would like for us to be friends, if that’s possible.”

Phil waited, but Clint didn’t turn or say anything. He was almost to the door when he heard, “I wish you had told me that five years ago.”

Phil faced Clint. “I wish I had. I thought I was sparing you pain.”

Clint gripped his bow tightly. “Lies never spare pain, only delay it.”

*

Phil scanned the cafeteria. He found Steve in the corner, laughing with Agents Caron and Burrell. His heart twisted as he took in the joy on Steve’s face. He’d missed seeing that.

“Agent Rogers,” he said, once he’d arrived at their table. “Could I have a word?”

Steve saw Phil and his face sobered. “All right.”

They headed to Steve’s quarters. Steve sat on the bed but Phil remained standing near the door.

“I became friends with you because I wanted to know if Steve Rogers possessed the qualities of Captain America.”

Steve looked resigned. “Even after I told you, in reality, there is no Captain America?”

“I spent forty years building that collection. I thought I knew everything there was to know about Captain America and in one fell swoop, you told me that everything I knew was a lie,” Phil said. “I thought that, if Captain America was based on you, maybe you had at least some of the qualities I admired so much.”

Steve stood up. “But I’m not Captain America, Phil. I can’t be Captain America for you.”

“No, you’re not,” Phil said. “But I’m not in love with Captain America. I’m in love with Steve Rogers.”

“That’s - “ Steve sighed. “I wish I could believe you.”

“Captain America is a one-dimensional character in a comic book.” Phil took a step towards Steve. “Steve Rogers is the most caring, loving, exciting, beautiful, brave man I’ve ever met and he’s standing right in front of me.”

“Fury told me about his plans for the Avengers Initiative. He wants me take up the mantle again,” Steve said quietly. “Will you be able to separate us then?”

“At S.H.I.E.L.D., I’m Agent Coulson. But I’ve only ever been Phil with you, Steve, even from the beginning.” He took another step towards Steve. “I am not my job, any more than you are.”

Steve searched Phil’s face. Finding whatever he needed to see, his face relaxed. “Okay then, we’ll start over.”

He put out his hand and a blush bloomed in his cheeks. “Hi, I’m Steve Rogers.”

Phil clasped Steve’s hand. It was warm and solid. “I’m Phil Coulson.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing plot, so I appreciate any feedback or constructive criticism.


End file.
